


Irreparable Wounds

by LeviathanDee



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Dadgil, Demons, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Devil May Cry 5, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Superpowers, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26309002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeviathanDee/pseuds/LeviathanDee
Summary: After the Qliphoth incident, you changed. Your nights were haunted by one demon, its horned figure visiting your lucid terrors, gifting you with unfathomable powers. You searched these sleepless nights for a solution, for help only a certain kind of professional can provide. It seemed you were one phone call away with Morrison from that solution. On one fateful June afternoon, you stood on the steps of a very special devil hunters' parlour: Devil May Cry.Perhaps these 'professionals' will have the answers you're looking for?
Relationships: Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	1. A Scarlet Enigma

The cold sweat on your palm made turning the handle difficult. You hadn't anticipated your nervous demeanour to flare up this soon, your self control and outgoing nature being the forefront mask of how others usually perceived you. Admittedly, the predicament you found yourself in was less than savoury, unsure of what you were and how you ended up on this planet with so little information. As far as you were concerned, you had no memory of the world, and in turn, it had no memory of you. Thus you had little choice but to proceed.

You stood there, holding the door handle, a reel of thoughts playing in your head. The neon sign above the parlour bathed your form in a soft cerise hue, reading 'Devil May Cry'. You huffed a small sigh, before turning the handle and swinging the entrance open. The anxiety induced nausea began to take root. Inching through the door frame, you were greeted by a large parlour, littered with clutter of countless origins. From books and documents from clients and displays of devil arms, to empty pizza boxes and discarded beer bottles. It seemed somewhat homey, appearing more like a family abode than an actual business. Your tension eased at the sight.

Peeling yourself from the spot, you moved further in, observing your surroundings. Though the ‘reception’ was empty of any attendants, you felt like you were being watched. Perhaps it was your paranoia, a panicky tension grabbing ahold of your throat, coiling around the trachea…

Moments had passed, seconds ticking by with you standing in the spot, shuffling uncomfortably by shifting your weight from one leg to another. Unsure of what to do, you decided to study the wall behind the desk that stood out like a sore thumb. The devil arms that adorned the back wall were calling to you. One weapon in particular, a type of nunchuck glazed in an icy energy that licked at the glass frame it was mounted behind, was singing a low hum. The vibration was not unpleasant, albeit being slightly unnerving. Your curiosity was overwhelmingly evident, but you didn’t want to overstep your boundaries. After all, you were  _ definitely  _ not alone now.

The only thing that gave away the presence behind you was the perpetual friction of leather, a familiar sound reverberating from the mysterious being. You turned on your heel to observe the stranger. An overwhelming, towering man stood a mere metre away from you, silver locks draped over his eyes. The sound that gave away his presence was emitted from a form fitting leather jacket, a deep maroon fashion piece adorned in buckles and weapon holsters. You were almost certain that the swaying jacket cost more than the man earned in a year considering his  _ ‘cosy’ _ office.

A smirk laced itself across his visage, causing you to beam back. Undoubtedly, the stranger was awaiting your response to his presence.

“Hi! You must be-?”

“Dante. A pleasure to meet ya, doll. Unfortunately, we’re not taking contracts right now. The bathroom is out of order too, haven’t had the chance to flush that bad boy. Bills only just came through.” A low, pleasant voice resounded within the room as Dante pointed upwards to the ceiling.

“Dante. The pleasure is all mine. You can call me Y/N.” Outstretching your minuscule hand, Dante enveloped it with his palm. The sheer size difference between you was comical, causing a chuckle to bubble from his throat.

“Y/N? You’re the one Morrison mentioned. He said you have a special case. So what brings ya here? What unfortunate demon needs an ass-kickin’?” His hands reached behind his back, swooping two handguns, both impressive in their own right. The dual wielded pistols were identical in design, except for their day and night colour schemes. One jet black, and the other a snowy porcelain. Bringing them both up to his lips, he blew a small exhale onto the muzzles, indicating a job-well-done after a firefight. The cocky display made you grin, rewarding him with a reserved chuckle.

“Morrison gave you no details about the contract?” Your genuine surprise caught Dante off guard, tilting his brow upwards. Holstering his weapons, he took proud steps towards his desk, nonchalantly landing in the creaky office chair.

“All he said was  _ ‘you’re going to need to hear this yourself,’ _ and something about  _ ‘don’t screw this up Dante.’ _ ” He flung his legs up onto the desk, tilting his chair backwards in a casual manner. The intonation within his voice, mocking the contract provider, made you scoff.

“I see. To be quite honest, I don’t know where to begin.This assignment will involve some research… And reconnaissance.” You shuffled a few steps towards the desk, setting your bag beside your feet. You inhaled deeply before continuing with the details.

“I keep having nightmares-” With an abrupt movement forward, Dante lunged towards you, placing a gargantuan finger to your lips in an attempt to silence you.

“Doll, I’m no dream scientist.” Dante’s statement made you frown. You pushed his finger away, brushing your own fingers through your hair in a comforting motion.

“Oneirologist.” A retort left your lips, proud of your knowledge in such topics.

“A what?”

“Oneirology, the study of dreams.”

“Right. So what has this got to do with me? I fight physical demons, not paralysis demons.” Before you could tell Dante to listen, a gust of wind from the open door paused your oncoming onslaught of words.

“If you would let her finish, Dante.” A nasal voice, demanding attention, echoed within the parlour. You turned to observe the source of the cold sound, noticing a tall figure, draped in a flowing Payne’s grey coat. His face mirrored that of Dante’s, apart from the stoic expression that blanketed his chiselled features. This was Dante’s identical twin, Vergil. If you remembered correctly, Morrison warned you to stay away from this half. You were unsure why, but you figured it was best to follow the old man’s advice. You cautiously nodded in thanks to his interruption, and turned to face the more scruffy twin.

“These nightmares always end the same way. I travel through a section of the underworld, before a large demon turns to face me, telling me to  _ return.  _ I would like to find this demon,” you shuddered at the recollection, steeling yourself for the questions, “and yes, I know. You’re no  _ ‘dream scientist’ _ . But there’s something I have to show you.” Picking up your bag, you reached in to pull out a pocket knife, and a flourishing pelargonium plant, replacing the invasive scent of stale pizza in the room with tender eucalyptus. The furrow of Dante’s brow deepened, making you smirk to yourself.

“I‘ve developed a few… powers, alongside these nightmares. They’ve started to show after the giant demon-tree-thing sprouted here.”

“Qliphoth.” Now sat on the couch with his leg propped up on the other knee, Vergil slicked his silvery locks away from his brow. The devil’s concentrated stare encouraged you to continue with your tale.

“Hmm. Whatever he said. Ever since the  _ Qliphoth  _ sprouted, I changed. Here, let me demonstrate.”

You circled the desk to face Dante, making sure Vergil had a good view of what you were about to do. Outstretching your hand, your fingers facing him, you asked for his own palm. Within seconds, the scarlet sibling gave up his limb. Dante’s lack of hesitation impressed you, noticing that this man had either no fear, or no real self preservation instinct. This motion intrigued the colder twin. Vergil shifted, sitting forward in anticipation.

Your growing tenseness in the shoulders was becoming evident, Dante’s grin only deepening with each passing second.

“Having second thoughts? Can always back out of whatever you’re about to do.” The twin’s comment only motivated you, picking up the pocket knife that sat atop the devil hunter’s desk.

“I need to make a small cut on your palm, this will only sting a bit.”

Dante nodded, his flint irises expectant. Your chapped lips cracked under the pressure of a nervous grin, hoping this action won’t anger or hurt the man too much. With one swift slide of the blade against his calloused skin, you made a shallow laceration. A trickle of brilliant red liquid escaped from the incision. To your surprise, the cut sealed itself in mere seconds. The flesh seemed to mend before your very eyes, the skin becoming whole once more. Admittedly, your shock caused the man to smirk. Bringing his free arm up to the air, he flexed like a wrestler, earning him a displeased click of the tongue from his twin brother.

“You’ll need to hurt this devil just a little bit more, doll.”

“Huh.” You raised an eyebrow, unsure how to proceed. A sudden lack of resistance possessed you, forcing your blade through the twin’s palm, letting the knife pierce to the other side of the hand as easily as butter. The sickening sound of sliced flesh and tearing tendons filled the four walls of the reception. Undoubtedly, your brash and unannounced action made the man flinch, both from the pain and the shock. The blood pooled out in a torrential flood, Dante frowning at the mess his injury caused.

“Damn, no hesitation. My rotten luck with women just seems to pursue me everywhere I go.” Although Dante was frowning with pursed lips, you could hear an amused exhale emit from the stoic brother. Looking up, Vergil’s scowling seemed to soften.

“I apologise. Let’s hope you don’t heal too quickly this time.” You winked at the injured man, yanking the blade out with as much force as possible. This earned you another chesty exhale from Vergil, his nostrils flaring at Dante’s expression.

“Hold on, what do you mean-“

Before Dante could finish, you cupped his palm, grasping the laceration with a tender touch. The sanguine liquid rained down to your wrist, furthering the morbid mess you both caused. A familiar yet strange crimson energy glimmered around your arms, stemming from the centre of your chest. It licked at your fingertips, warm caresses of energy relieving any pain Dante would have felt. This relief was evident on his face, his lashes fluttering closed, accompanied with a husky hum from his chest.

You, on the other hand, were beginning to feel a grotesque agony at your own palm. The pulsing was sharply interrupting any restraint in your voice. The grunts of displeasure that escaped your lips only intrigued Vergil. He stood mere inches away from the display, staring intensely with steely eyes. Your breath hitched at his sudden appearance, remembering J. D. Morrison’s comments of the  _ ‘dangerous’ _ twin. Whereas Dante was an open book with his expressions, Vergil showed absolutely nothing. Not a single shift in emotion, simply intense stares that could pierce through anyone’s mental barriers.

Perhaps this was the reason Morrison was worried for you?

The spasms of pain woke you from your concerned thoughts. Your flesh tore on the palm, mimicking the shape of your blade. Blood pooled, this time from your own injury, whilst Dante stared dumbfounded at his own healed, yet morbidly bloodied palm.

“See that Verge? That would’ve taken ten minutes to heal, not seconds.” As if only just noticing your own shallow breathing, Dante placed his clean hand on your shoulder to steady your shaky form. His thankful yet apologetic gaze jogged your memory, making you reach for the jungle of pelargonium leaves you brought with you. With a small pause and mischievous wink you gave, the scarlet glittering energy began to shimmer around the plant. To the twins’ surprise, the thriving plant began to wilt. It lost all colours of brilliant jade. The once vibrant bush now stood pathetically, a dead skeletal frame of what it once was.

You wiggled your fingers in front of their noses, showing off a less than clean, albeit healed, palm.

“Hmm.” The sound seemed to be the only thing Vergil could muster, clearly impressed, perhaps even disturbed, no matter how reluctant his visage was to betray it.

“Damn doll. That was impressive. A shame about the flower though.” Dante pointed at the leftover twigs. You sighed regretfully, wondering how many more living beings were going to suffer your leeching powers.

“ _ Truly _ . It was the only thing masking the foul smell of your  _ persistent _ mess.” Turning on his heel, the towering, steely devil hunter quickly disappeared towards the stairs, leaving a gust of wind and the scent of cinnamon behind him.

Your perplexion at Vergil’s abrupt escape was clear as day. The leftover twin displayed another apologetic expression, casually propping his hands atop his hips.

“Sorry about Vergil. That’s my twin brother. Not much of a people person.” Lacing his fingers around his waist, he tapped a regretful tune with the heel of his boot. You could tell Dante was worried, though you were unsure whether it was from Vergil’s sudden, unannounced leave, or the tumultuous sibling rivalry broiling between them that Morrison had mentioned.

From the scarce interaction you witnessed between the two in these sheer minutes, you could sense a tension. A tension that could only be bred through decades of conflict, two aggressive forces pushing against each other in a powerful tempest. The man before you was young in appearance, though the crestfallen wrinkles that enshrouded the corners of his eyes aged him decades. Dante’s bittersweet smile told a story you would be reluctant to retell if you stood in his place. Thus, you veered from the conversation, attempting to smooth over the wrinkles with metaphorical hands.

“I see. So… about the contract. Is there any way you can help me?” The change in topic was a welcome distraction to the man before you, causing his youthful demeanour to return in full force. The nonchalant pose, as well as the glimmer in his flint eyes, was indication of such a change. After a few seconds of consideration, his chest hummed with a honeyed sound, the devil hunter’s lips curling up with a mischievous grin.

And with the few words that flowed from Dante’s lips, your relief and sudden elation overflowed within your chest.

You were going to finally get your answers.

“ _ How much are you willing to pay? _ ”

…

The white walls of the guest room seemed a tad too bright to the silver haired devil, his migraine only worsening at the thought of what transpired mere seconds ago. Vergil paced restlessly.

Back.

And forth.

Each step making a cacophonous sound of angered heels on oak floorboards. Though his face betrayed nothing, his chest was a tempestuous storm, his heart beating violently in retaliation to his thoughts.

“Impossible.” His nasal, quiet voice was the only other sound within the sterile white room, accompanied by his persistent heels. 

Why did he leave so abruptly? 

He should’ve stayed. Asked her questions.  _ Confronted _ her.

Vergil was never one to back out, nor hesitate. However the crimson energy that coiled around her small frame made his blood boil. Was it uncertainty that made him withdraw? Or was it fear? His steely expression faltered at the notion, making him scoff at how ridiculous this thought seemed.

Vergil began to recall his memories, flicking through files of echoes he had stored away. The royal bloody glimmer of the demonic energy that spiralled around the stranger’s fingers was a clear recollection of what haunted him for decades.

For over twenty years, he was constantly, almost mercilessly, tormented by the thought of that peculiar power. The ones who hunted him for his heritage possessed that very same demonic magic. Vergil’s hunger for that strength led him on a destructive path, paving a candy trail for Mundus’ personal servants to follow the troubled teenager. Thus encountering that same energy decades ago, only to have it demonstrated in the parlour a few mere minutes before.

“Had the Prince of Darkness somehow escaped Mallet Island, to enact his revenge upon Sparda’s kin? Upon humanity itself once more? Was she one of Mundus’ servants? A  _ hunter _ ?” Another scoff left his parted lips. Someone that small couldn’t possibly be under Mundus’ control. He knew exactly how the servant would have behaved. After all, he fell victim to the Underworld’s master before.

Another string of memories he struggled to keep from boiling up escaped through to his already addled mind. A group of citizens in Fortuna wielding the crimson ringlets of magic attacked him, Vergil’s obliviousness almost costing him his life. Unbeknownst to him, these Fortuna citizens followed the Underworld’s Monarch. Vergil was lost, searching for answers in a Sparda worshiper town filled with Mundus slaves. 

The  _ irony _ was not lost on him.

Luckily, he found refuge with a certain bizarre woman. She was quite knowledgeable, her harbouring kindness and information proving useful to the young devil. The Sanguisugae, she called them. Leeches. These slaves possessed a power Vergil could not help but be drawn to like a moth to a flame.

However, her own goals towards the lost, naive youngster were not entirely sincere. Her knowledge of the essence, as well as the ability to  _ wield _ it, was unmatched to the ones he fought so fiercely. Although this woman was an alluring, benevolent soul, she was stuck under the dominating thumb of the King of the Underworld. Trap after trap, they fought, their fondness for each other growing with each passing battle. Their rival-like nature blossomed into a tumultuous romance, shaking Vergil's very foundations and his cynical view of the world. The rest was history, as her disappearance was the last straw to Vergil’s turn to corruption, and the neglect of his humanity.

He recalled with a softened visage that she favoured cardinal red dresses. The absurd persistence of the colour red following him everywhere he went, was an infuriating annoyance, no matter how sweet the memory was. The blue devil’s reminiscing expression caused his pupils to dilate, saccharine nostalgic rose petals, surrounded by weeds taking root to give way for a suffocating trauma. Although Vergil’s life was anything but delightful, he was glad to keep the few treasured memories amongst those strangling weeds.

His pacing had finally stopped, his heel halting and giving a merciful break to the creaking floorboards. The wrinkle between his brows seemed to deepen in thought. The woman that stood downstairs, looking for answers, was no hunter. She exhibited no signs of corruption. No signs of enslavement. In fact, her demeanour was that of a free spirit. She was able to communicate, albeit her face shrouded in a slight awkwardness, and had no problem with confronting her problems and asking for help. Her appearance was pleasant on the eyes, ironically wearing more crimson shades alongside her gothic aesthetic. Nothing bizarre had shone through to the surface. Besides, Vergil was extraordinarily good at sensing a demonic presence, his years in Hell giving him an unfair advantage over other devil hunters. She was, in the purest sense possible, a human. Then how, pray tell, was she able to cast the most advanced form of magic without a single drop of demonic blood coursing through her veins?

The perplexion only carved a deeper pit into his brow.

Finally deciding to pry himself from the spot, Vergil moved his heavy step towards the gargantuan window, looking out onto the streets of Redgrave. Summer was in full bloom, the rays of golden sun beating down with an infernal heat. The pulsating headache that rooted itself behind his left eye had begun to spread throughout his skull. The pain only intensified at June’s scorching warmth. His thoughts ran rampant at the strange events that occurred. It was unlike him to lose control this easily. Vergil was the epitome of discipline, the ability for self restraint being a major factor in his survival. With a deep inhale, the devil collected his thoughts that ran amok. Stalking each memory into submission, the recollections obeyed, and were locked away into a deep dark corner of his addled mind. Seconds passing, his exhale released any remaining tension and uncertainty. He brushed his sweat soaked brow with the back of his gloved hand.

The headache began to ease. However his grimace stayed.

He was going to find out who, and what, that woman was.

_ One way, or another. _


	2. Friend or Foe?

Cleaning the parlour, _and_ paying their bills. You hadn’t expected this turn of events, your mouth hanging agape at Dante’s strange proposition.

“If you wanted a maid, you could’ve just hired one.” Defiant, you crossed your arms, attempting to appear somewhat threatening.

“You _do_ want this demon found, right? Besides, you’ll be spending lots of time here. Might as well help around.” Dante’s charming smile eased your defensive stance, your shoulders sinking in defeat. _The audacity of this man..._

“Fine. On one condition.” You pointed a minuscule finger up to his chin. The glint in the devil’s eyes never faltered, his smirk plastered proudly across his face.

“For you, doll? Anything.”

“I’m _not_ doing your laundry.” Dante’s grin morphed into a beaten frown. He grasped at his chest, feigning heartache at your triumph.

“Whatever shall I do? All my _one_ outfit needs a deft touch. Verge certainly won’t do it. He’ll sooner cut my jacket into shreds.” Dante’s puppy eyes had no effect on you whatsoever. Though you could admit he was a witty charmer, his appearance of a roguishly handsome devil only improving the allure, you knew these tactics to be a mere facade for persuasion.

“Unfortunately, Dante, you’ll need to take those big muscles of yours and put them to good use. Laundry day included.” Wagging your finger in front of his face, Dante threw his arms up in the air. His childish demeanour caused a chuckle to bubble from your lungs, a victorious smirk spreading across his face from your laughter.

“Alright, alright. I get it. My grime, my time. Anyway, I'll call Morrison, he'll set the contract up. Make sure to keep an ear out for the phone." With a swift wave of his fully healed hand, the blood still congealed on his fingertips, he waved off any further conversation between the two of you. You nodded in return.

Ready to wander to your cosy abode in repaired downtown Redgrave, you decided to take the scenic route, rewarding yourself for a job well done. Of course, this _scenic route_ would include scattered rubble from the Qliphoth incident. It was surprising that anything even survived the onslaught of the demonic sprouting vegetation. However, nature prevails. You huffed at the thought and grabbed your now empty bag, waving a beaming goodbye at the scarlet devil. Before leaving, you could hear a soft yet enthusiastic ‘adios’ in your direction.

Your good mood seemed to simply radiate. The sunshine gently caressed your face as soon as you stepped out, kissing tender rays onto your cheeks. Admittedly, you anticipated a different turn of events. As far as Morrison mentioned, he was reluctant to take your contract, further explaining that the sons of Sparda were picky with their jobs, no matter how broke they would become. Both Dante and Vergil had to speak to you themselves to fully understand what they were dealing with. A searching job of this caliber, however, was bound to peak their interest. That much you understood. Thus the day was a massive success; Dante accepted. The only thing you had left to do was to gather your research, your dream logs alongside your sketches, and simply wait.

Barely able to contain your jovial skipping, you skirted the edge of a park, enjoying the nostalgic smell of freshly cut grass. The viridescent jungle of trees swayed in the wind, causing all leftover awkward tension to leave your body through one, long, sigh.

From the two decades of spending time alone, jumping from life to life, you learned to take the beauty of the world to heart. These decades were not kind, each year reminding you of your unchanging youthfulness, as well as empty past. Your origins were unknown to you. Undoubtedly, everyone ages, twenty years being a long and arduous time on the fragile human body. These years grew crow's feet on one's eyes, bunny lines, silver strands of hair, and dulled hues within the irises. However you stayed absolutely the same. Your own estimations predicted that you sat comfortably on the age band of twenty-five, a young and lively lass with twenty extra years of experience. An _approximate_ forty year old with the face of innocent naivete.

A sudden invasive scent of cinnamon reared itself into your nostrils, giving you borderline whiplash as it pulled you out of your ponderings. Your skipping halted in milliseconds. It seemed a certain, familiar scowl had followed you mere metres away from the parlour. You paused, giving Vergil a cautious smile. His face however, betrayed nothing pleasant.

"What are you?" This nasal demanding voice, accompanied by a brash and convoluted question, made you flinch. You were unsure whether it was the devil's tone or his sudden appearance before you. 

"Hello to you too. And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I won't repeat myself again." The man towered over you, his blue smoke eyes and contracted pupils giving away a less than pleased atmosphere radiating off of him. His gloved fingers coiled tighter around the hilt of his Odachi, earning him an uneasy gulp from your throat. However, you stood your ground. Unmoving and unwavering from your grassy spot.

"I came to you for that very reason. To find out. It will be your job soon enough to find that answer for me, not the other way round. Now, if you would excuse me." Turning on your heel to face away from the colder twin, your memory of Morrison's warnings returned in full force. You hoped that the agitation in your voice was enough to ward off his curiosity.

"Wait," turning to look at him, it seemed as if Vergil's brow was furrowing into a somewhat pained, and annoyed expression, "I… tsk."

For what seemed like ages, there was a tense silence. Vergil's face expressed little, though you could tell his cogs and gears were working to their fullest potential. With years of trying to understand people, looking for signs of discomfort, you observed that Vergil was the strangest of the many you've encountered. Perhaps he needed a slightly more gentle approach? You sighed a weary breath.

"Dante accepted the contract. We can talk about it later. Ok?"

Vergil's jacket swayed in the breeze, the ruffle of fabric being the only other sound in the quiet park. You sighed once more at his stern stare. No words came from his mouth, however his gaze told essays. He was analysing your every move. Your every word.

The devil before you was a meticulous one, his appearance reflecting that very notion. The strands of silver hair were slicked back for practical reasons, never 

obscuring his vision. His Payne’s grey jacket, adorned with minty thorn detailing, carried not a single stain, nor a hint of pesky creasing. Even the unique smell of sweet spice that gently followed his trail was an indication of his need for sovereignty over his surroundings. A guise, a simple yet effective illusion of importance. You noted this, knowing full well that you won’t escape his watchful eye, especially after all that vigilant care he takes in his own appearance, as well as others’ perception of him.

Breathing calmly, you clasped your hands behind your back, attempting to appear less defensive than what you truly felt inside.

"I'm bringing my research and sketches with me when the contract comes through. We've already discussed the price with your brother, so there's nothing to worry about." Your own voice resonated between the trees, sounding much louder than it needed to be.

"Hmm. I suppose that will have to do." To your surprise, the man abruptly nodded, and turned on his heel to follow the street back to Devil May Cry. His steps echoed through the park, as if it was the only other sound in the world. Heavy, and demanding your attention. Was he sulking? You scoffed at the display. It was extraordinarily childish for a man with such a stoic personality; Almost emitting a denied puppy.

Years of observation and studying the human condition couldn’t prepare you for the bizarre interaction you’ve been a part of mere seconds ago. Vergil seemed adamant on his need to know your identity, and yet he vanished as quickly as he appeared.

“He’s an interesting one. Wonder what Morrison was so worried about?” Facing the swaying silhouette, the dot in the horizon quickly slunk through the parlour doors, leaving you to ponder about his baffling question.

_What are you?_

The phrase echoed in your mind, bouncing like a screensaver on the TV. Truly, if you didn’t know the answer, then who would?

With your mood soured, you continued down the park, the bounce in your step morphing into a small, defeated stagger.

…

With his legs propped up on the desk, Dante twirled a strap of his maroon leather jacket between his fingers. Yet another boring day ensued, awaiting Morrison's calls, as well as Patty's incessant requests for _dates_. He shuddered at the notion, the girl seeming more like an adopted daughter than a potential suitor. Though he could admit it was an endearing thought, the sheer paternal instinct he felt towards the persistent girl stopped any ideas past protectiveness.

Furrowing his brow in thought, his musings led to the conversation moments ago with Y/N. She was a small woman, with a large spirit. _Even Verge felt it._ Her lack of restraint and witty thinking only reminded him of his nineteen year old self. Full of life, and ready to show it. She was the type of woman that would suit Devil May Cry in fact, especially with the multitudes of uses her powers had.

Dante’s fingers grazed against the surface of his recently healed hand. The feeling of mending flesh was extraordinarily pleasant, an otherworldly warmth spreading throughout his body. Truth be told, his muscles felt better, his back no longer had the tense ache that tortured him for months, and his headache was a thing of the past. Did Y/N leech all of his ailments away onto herself, only to pass it onto her unsuspecting plant victim? If so, she was definitely a potential employee. No doubt about it.

Further tipping his chair back, balancing on the very edge of the wooden leg, Dante’s thoughts led him to the contract. A demon inside of a nightmare? How special. Nevertheless, all that was left to do was to wait for Morrison to do all the paperwork, and get to some investigating. This was bound to be a fun diversion from the usual, mind-numbing demon slaying. 

He was admittedly excited for the new job, especially from someone like Y/N. A chuckle left the scarlet devil’s throat. He was surprised at how easily she was persuaded to follow this kind of payment. In fact, he was pulling her leg, a lil’ joke that was meant to agitate. And she jumped right into his trap. _What a precious doll._ At least he'll have more time to do absolutely nothing, what with the new cleaner lady-ahem-client. Plus, the building will have power everyday. For a few months. At least. Hopefully.

Tilting his creaky chair further backwards, the scarlet devil crossed his arms behind his head to relax with his pleasant thoughts. A gust of wind, however, pushed him away from that wonderland of delight, as well as nearly off of his chair. It seemed Dante's more grumpy half had a less than agreeable conversation with Devil May Cry's new client.

"So, Verge, what'd she say? To go soak your head or somethin'? Trust me, I know how you feel, not much luck with women myself." Dante’s lips pulled into a Cheshire cat smirk, earning him a scowl from the new arrival.

"Dante…"

"What? Just wondering. You don't usually go out of your way to talk to clients. But that _lil' teeny tiny_ display earlier tells me something about her is off. Apart from the magic sparkle hands, I mean." This was the perfect time to pull the ‘ _jazz hands’_ manoeuvre, Dante wiggling his fingers and darting out of his chair like a Shakespearean performer. His attempt at lifting his brother’s mood obviously failed.

"It's nothing." Vergil was having difficulty at keeping eye contact, Dante instantly noticing that this was an extremely bizarre thing for the man. In all seriousness, Vergil was the master of eye contact, making everybody uncomfortable at how good he was with his intense staring game. It was downright creepy at times.

"Really Verge? You'll have to do better than that." Dante's persistence only deepened Vergil's scowling. He dropped all facades involving his performances, approaching the blue devil, and placing a heavy hand onto Vergil’s shoulder. With a sigh, the scarlet devil's concerned voice continued.

"Remember our agreement after we came back to the surface and moved to Redgrave? To be honest with each other? I'm just worried for you, is all. I don't want secrets between us. I want you to be able to confide in me, just as I want to be able to confide in you. We're identical twins, for Christ's sake, brothers. If something is bothering you, then tell me. Maybe we can work on it together." 

_Together._

‘Together’ was a word rarely used in Vergil’s vocabulary, the sound of it seeming almost alien. It would take some time to get used to the notion of togetherness. Of companionship. No matter how strangely the word rolled off the tongue.

Dante's genuine concern, as well as mention of shoulder-to-shoulder cooperation, momentarily softened Vergil's expression, his heart following suit.

"Tsk. Those powers. They are not foreign to me." A forlorn expression tickled at Vergil’s lips, a small ghost of a frown beginning to form.

"That's not all, is it?" With a squeeze of his brother’s shoulder, Dante continued to cautiously prod for more information.

"No. The Sanguisugae, a race of intelligent humanoid demons, are the only ones with such magic. I crossed paths with them just before our confrontation on the Temen-Ni-Gru all those years ago." Vergil inhaled deeply, a forlorn smile gracing his lips. The expression, however, dissipated as quickly as it came, a grave weariness taking root.

"Did I mention that the entire race was enslaved by _Mundus_?" It was as if a gargantuan Boulder just slammed through the roof, the sheer mention of Mundus’ involvement in anything being a vile reminder of the past. An anxiety induced lump of phlegm began to form in Dante’s throat.

"Well crap." These tiny words were the only sounds he could muster.

"Indeed." Vergil's eyes shifted from his concerned twin, to his trusty Yamato. His fingers seemed to subconsciously coil around the hilt, running his thumb along the silk wrapping in a comforting motion.

"You can't possibly think she might be one of 'em?"

"No. I sense no demonic presence in her blood. And yet…" Vergil’s controlled guise began to break under the pressure of uncertainty, making him pinch his nose bridge for comfort. Dante’s inner empath escaped, gently shaking his twin’s shoulder. After all that Vergil has been through, the last thing he needed was a returning trauma caused by the prince of darkness. The last thing Dante needed was to lose his family again.

"Let's assume she's completely human. Let's _also_ assume she's unaware of Mundus' existence. Is it possible that she's simply a very lucky person with an impressive ability?" Throwing in a light tone to his voice, Dante’s attempt at easing tension went ignored.

"It is difficult to say."

"We'll keep an eye on her, she can't take us both down. Right? She's stabby, but not as stabby as the two of us combined." Dante twirled his now healed hand, moments ago adorning a blade shaped hole in the very centre of the palm. _Those powers sure are impressive_.

"I pray for your sake that you are correct." Almost as if the entire conversation hadn’t happened, Vergil’s infamous intense stare returned in full force, making Dante rethink his hand’s positioning.

"My sake? You think your lil' brother doesn't have what it takes to bring down one girl?"

"No. I don't. Do not underestimate her. It may be your last mistake if you do." Vergil’s snappy nature was now at the forefront of this conversation. His silvery brows now almost touching his lashes, the vexation in his face was crystal clear.

"Hmph. So much for faith in family, Verge."

Vergil’s menacing scowl continued, the crinkle between his brows becoming a permanent addition to his features. With a swift push of his gloved hand, the scarlet devil’s limb was forcefully shoved away from Vergil’s shoulder. The tender moment of brotherhood was long gone. Eventually, the grumpy half continued towards the couch, his less than elegant landing causing a comical squeak of leather-on-leather to resonate within the parlour.

Going back to his desk, Dante's thoughtful frown began to form another wrinkle. Throughout all of his years as a devil hunter, he's never encountered a 'Sanguisugae', or whatever Vergil said. These leeching abilities were a first in his eyes, a mystery Dante was eager to solve. How did these humanoid demons look? What was their purpose originally, before Mundus' intervention? Where did they all go, and why has he never seen one? So many questions, with nary an answer.

As the moments passed, the twins sat in silence, their soundless ponderings filling the void. Dante shifted, still curious about his newfound fascination.

"Verge?"

"Dante." Vergil's distant eyes focused on his twin questioningly.

"Tell me about these demons."

…

Your sleep was interrupted once more, the humidity in your apartment being a major factor of your wakefulness. You had to basically peel yourself off of the sheets, your clammy skin sticking to anything it encountered.

"Urgh…" Your heartbeat was heavy, the lack of oxygen in the room making breathing difficult. The clock above your bed read ‘2:43am’. It was the time of night owls, artists and artisans. Perhaps it was your time to wake up as well. Stepping one foot gingerly onto the floorboards, they whined disapprovingly at the sudden shifting weight. You haven’t felt this groggy in months, the overuse of your powers causing your exhaustion to overtake your entire being. The pelargonium had enough life to absorb the knife wound, however Dante’s extra aches were an unanticipated burden.

You looked around your small bedroom. Admittedly, it was messier than usual, your floor littered in research notes, books on oneirology and demonology, as well as sketches of your recurring night terrors. You decided to take these sketches, as well as dream logs, cradling them with slight hesitation. Your entire torment, countless sleepless nights, were all collected into a singular, black file.

A face stared back at you. It was hastily scribbled onto some lined paper, after a night terror in the deepest reaches of hell. Adorned with a scarlet collar of fur around its neck, the demon had feline shaped, glassy and lifeless voids for eyes. Its mouth was a pit of razor sharp teeth, layered in the manner akin to that of a shark’s. The slight crookedness of its tapered horns showed off a more cliché image of demons. The resemblance continued, its wasp-like appearance of the form sending shivers through your entire core, reminding you of the Empusas that roamed the streets not too long ago. Though you are certain it was bipedal, you could not help but see images of it scuttering towards you with all six of its limbs.

Before the nightmares got to your already addled mind, you decided to leave the bedroom, placing your recollections onto the duvet. With a deep breath, you wandered around your small, albeit cosy apartment. Your goal was the kitchen. After that poor excuse of a nap, your parched mouth begged for hydration.

As your steps echoed through the rooms, your mind meandered to the confrontation outside of Devil May Cry. Though you understood Morrison and his concerns, you saw little to fear from Vergil. His intense stares weren’t enough to deter the very person who had to deal with her own nightmares nearly every night. In fact, it was intriguing the way his features processed information. Showing so little, yet showing so much through micro expressions. Each sliver of an emotion was difficult to grasp, falling through the cracks between your fingers. Vergil was distant, sure. But that’s the kind of challenge you liked. Befriending someone like the blue devil was surely going to have its benefits.

Your mind couldn’t help but run circles at the mere thought of the cold twin’s strange behaviour however. You knew, with little information, that the stern face was a guise. A guise that was merely a scheme to protect himself from any further mistreatment. Evidently, you meant no harm to the man. Hell, you could barely hold back the small apologies you showered the plants with before their demise at your hands. A sudden forlorn feeling washed over you, wondering what Vergil must have gone through to erect such titanic barriers around himself. Even Dante’s sudden change in moods as soon as his twin stormed off was evidently the result of trauma, from both their ends.

“I wonder what’s their story?” You pondered aloud, helping yourself to a glass of icy tap water. Your curious nature was bursting at the seams.

Before you could finish the thought and continue with your nosey antics, a loud ringing bell began to resonate from within your bedroom. That familiar sound was your phone. Peculiar, to say the least, as three in the morning was the time for spam calls, not pleasant talks. Eventually, you gave in to the ringing, scurrying as quickly as possible to the cacophony from your phone.

The screen read, ‘Morrison DMC’.

You hesitated for a few seconds, before finally giving in to the bell and pressing the green button.

“Hello? Y/N speaking.” Your groggy voice, still hoarse from the lack of hydration, startled the man on the phone.

“Y/N? This is Morrison. I apologise for the late call, but I figured the heat is keeping everybody awake at this time. Was I correct to assume as such?” Even from the poor speakers from your mobile, you could hear the elegance and suave attitude this man radiated. 

“Hah, you got that right!” You tried to match the tone, ending up somewhere on the scale between awkward and enthusiastic.

“Thought so. Nevertheless, I apologise for the interruption.” There was a small sound of rustling papers, and clearing of the throat from the man, obviously preparing himself for the contract detail retelling to his new client.

Although sounding like a zombie from those old eighties budget horrors, you talked shop with the gentleman, sorting out information about the job. For nearly thirty minutes you clung on for dear life, trying to stay awake in the humidity. You could swear you dozed off for ten of those minutes whilst still replying with grunts and snores. Morrison eventually got the hint, racing through the questions and filling out paperwork with the speed of sound.

“Looks like we’ve powered through. The less than exciting part is finished. Here’s hoping Dante will sign the papers. Anyhow, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I wish you luck with the search, and bid you a goodnight… or what’s left of it.” Morrison sighed after a long conversation, waiting for your own tired reply. You eventually spoke, forgetting that there was a person on the other side of the phone line.

“Good night and good morning, Morrison. And thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Just before the contractor could bid you a goodnight, your gasp paused any continuations of the farewell.

“I- hold on. I have a… question.”

“Shoot.” Moments passed, Morrison waiting for your question. You had no clue how to word it, wanting to be careful with your overwhelming curiosity. You thought back to the conversation between you and the blue devil. How he kept his guard up the entire time. How his sudden appearance, as well as disappearance, clung onto your memory. How his very presence, his sovereignty over his surroundings, was so overbearing. Biting your lip, you decided upon a simple, yet broad, question.

“This may be a bit intrusive, but why is Vergil so guarded?”

“Oh. That’s a question you’ll have to ask Dante. Their story is a rocky one, Vergil’s side more so. Just be careful with that one. He’s very, let’s say, ‘sensitive’. Reacts with his sword more than with his words.” The slight comment of his love for ‘actions over words’ made you chuckle. However you understood the warning, knowing full well that Morrison’s concerns came from a personal place. He knew Vergil better than you, and thus you had to be cautious.

“Hmm. I’ll take note of that. Thanks.”

Placing your now silent phone on the duvet, you witnessed the first rays of sunlight licking at your windows. The coral shimmering from the sunlight was bewitching, easing you into a morning routine. Although you slept little, you figured that the sunrise will give you enough energy to continue your research, as well as begin your new life as DMC’s… _maid._

_Urgh..._

…

“Dante! How come the power is on? I’m guessing you finally have enough to pay me back-“ a boisterous brunette with a rocket launcher strapped to her back burst in to greet the parlour, before she was cut off by a hearty laugh from the man himself.

“Hey Lady, you can thank Y/N for the flushed toilets and the air-con.” Dante pointed at you, his pleased grin widening.

“And why doesn’t it smell of old man here?” The woman who was lovingly dubbed as 'Lady' inhaled deeply, a sincere pleased smile crossing her lips.

“Hey now, that was the vintage eau de parfum of my all time favourite pizza.” Dante retorted with an offended gasp.

“That was her doing as well?”

“You know it.” The scarlet devil winked in your direction, shifting all eyes within the reception onto you. You watched the entire display, loving the dynamic between old friends. It made you slightly nostalgic for the multitude of lives you’ve led in an attempt to keep your lack of aging a secret.

Whilst you continued to reminisce about your past, Lady’s scoff resonated from her somewhat vexed face, obviously annoyed at Dante. Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms before turning to you.

“It would be nice if you introduced us, Dante.”

Dante became increasingly apologetic, playing with a strap on his maroon leather jacket. Composing himself, he winked before your introductions.

“Oh right, where are my manners? Lady, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Lady. You’ll be fast friends. Y/N _stabbed_ me when we first met, and Lady _shot_ me when we first met.” Letting out a burst of chortles, Dante’s demeanour instantly transformed into that of a giddy child. It seems his immediate liking to you, as well as Lady’s magnetic personality was making the introductions far easier. There was no awkward tension as far as you were concerned.

“We’ll get along nicely, Y/N.” The brunette was beaming at you, outstretching her dainty fingers for a proper greeting. You smiled at her before accepting the offer, and enveloped her palm for a firm handshake. Admittedly, you could not help but continue staring at the beautiful woman, her eyes being the centre of all the attention. You noted that she had a rare condition, heterochromia, her left eye possessing an oceanic teal, whereas her right eye was a deep, amaranth hue.

Dante noted the silence, and continued with the introduction.

“Lady is one of our best gunslingers, mostly famous for her _crazy_ rocket launcher skills. That, right there, is the best damn human weapon I’ve had the pleasure of wielding. The Kalina Ann. A beauty.” The scarlet devil pointed at a large weapon strapped to Lady’s back, the launcher nearly spanning her entire height. The emphasis on the word ‘crazy’ made Lady instinctively roll her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Stop kissing my ass, Dante,” the woman let out a small tut and winked in your direction, “It’s lovely to finally meet you.” You could not help but beam back, showing your outgoing grin in return.

“Likewise! I hope my cleaning here is satisfactory for-“ Pointing to the kitchen, as well as Dante’s now empty trash cans, you were cut off before you could finish the sentence.

“Sweetheart, you never had to be his maid. It was a joke you _unfortunately_ fell for.”

“I’ll stick to it. If it keeps me away from trouble, then why not?” Trying to keep your lungs from bursting in a fit of laughter, you were interrupted by a hypnotic sound of heels on floorboards.

“Hey, you know what? Good for you! I like her, can we keep her?” A tall ashen haired woman, sporting a gothic leather outfit which flattered her midriff into the open air, followed behind Lady. You noted that her visage was that of the serene woman in the picture frame on Dante's desk. As she skipped beside the brunette, her gaze was fixated on you.

"Welcome back Trish, that job turned out well? Something about an Antenora invasion in the Fortuna mall?" Dante's shit-eating grin indicated that the blonde undeniably hated the targets, or the location of the contract. Perhaps even the combination of the both.

"They were no match for me. You know that, Dante." Trish's cocky tone made you smile. Her entire demeanour, even the stance she held, everything about her carried the air of confidence.

"Of course, of course. I'd never doubt you." Throwing his hands in the air, he backed off with a smirk. Knowing Dante, he was pushing his luck to get a kick out of the ladies. However, something told you that these _ladies_ would not stand for it.

Trish was taller than the average woman, her heels only adding to the sheer intimidation factor her appearance possessed. She was gliding effortlessly towards you, her eyes still fixated on your tiny form.

"Y/N?" The ashen haired woman brushed her locks away from her face, revealing two veridian eyes. She wanted you to confirm your name. You simply nodded, craning your neck upwards to match her height, failing miserably. Her deadpan face began to smirk at the display.

"The name's Trish. I'm looking forward to your contract. It is certainly different from the usual elimination jobs." She presented her manicured hand, fresh paint of scarlet nails gleaming in the lowlight. You proudly took the handshake.

“It’s lovely to meet you! And you can keep me if you’d like, I’m partial to such stunning and welcoming company.” Trying your best at platonic flirtationships, Dante and Lady both got a rise out of the display, chuckling like rabid dogs. However Trish’s reaction was the more pleasing one, her wink of fluttering lashes and twirl of a stray ashen lock being a sign of her taking a liking to you.

“We’ll see about that; if the smell of garbage stays out, you can stay in.”

Moments passing, the four of you joking around, retorting at the friendly teasing, you spread your wings like a social butterfly. Your inner cinnabar moth was fluttering in pure bliss. You missed the social interaction, keeping to yourself most days, trying to figure out what you were. It never got easier. Though you could get along with almost anyone, the sheer lack of opportunity to socialise paused any thoughts of friendship. This however, you could get used to.

_They’re good company. Maybe when this is all over, I will stay…_

Before you could continue with your tempestuous thoughts, a familiar grimacing face entered through the parlour doors of Devil May Cry. Vergil’s figure was bathed in a warm cerise glow. It seemed to have been raining for the past few hours, noting that the blue devil’s hair was draped less-than-elegantly over his eyes. He was soaked to the bone. Admittedly, you found the display absolutely adorable, the usually detached expression on his face now an upset, drenched, puppy. Dragging his feet towards the coat hangers, his boots emitted loud squelching noises, bringing attention to the new arrival.

“Vergil’s back, and he’s not entirely happy. _Again_.” Lady tapped her boot playfully, expecting a retort from Vergil. However the blue devil simply ignored the comment.

Before you could greet Vergil, Dante stepped in, waving his arms enthusiastically like an excited child at the man.

“Hey Verge, you look like you’ve been for a swim,” the comment that came from the red twin succeeded at making Vergil grimace, making him stomp even louder, “anyway, Y/N has brought some notes. Mind if you take a look through first? Your experience might help you notice something.” After Dante finished, Vergil made no attempts to look at you. Something seemed to discomfort him about your presence. Was it something you said? Perhaps your powers? You made note to ask Dante later.

The rain outside rapidly turned into a torrential flood, the droplets barrelling violently from the sky against the windows. Tension eased at the sound, knowing that the protection of the roof above you is enough to keep you warm and dry. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the grumpy, drenched man in front of the coat hanger. With one swift movement, his swaying jacket that stuck to his skin was now left to dry on the rack. The sudden appearance of porcelain pale arms made Lady let out a soft tut. 

“You tryna show off to our client or something?” She glanced over to you. If not for her comment, you would've never noticed the Herculean definition of muscle on his limbs. The sheer sight made a coral blush rise to your cheeks.

“Tsk. I am drenched. _Evidently_.” His dismissal was barely a whisper. Before shaking off any leftover rain, Vergil slicked back his strands of silver hair in the most theatrical manner possible. Another tut left Lady's lips, making you inadvertently giggle.

With his coat drying on the rack, the sound of serene droplets from the coat resonating within the parlour, the DMC crew continued on with their days. Dante returned to his desk, his legs propped up on the surface, pushing all paperwork to the side without any intentions of sorting them. Lady and Trish moved to the kitchen, where the sound of clinking bottles blanketed their hushed voices. Vergil simply stood near the hangers, staring at the files you clutched to your chest with his persistent, icy gaze. You figured that without stimulus, he would've continued to stare. Perhaps a proper introduction would grease these gears?

“Let me reintroduce myself, I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." You outstretched your arm, hoping for a firm handshake. Vergil continued to stare, however his eyes were fixated on a different subject; You.

"Vergil Sparda." Without skipping a beat, the blue devil grasped your palm, squeezing firmly on your minuscule hand. The pressure was not painful, albeit uncomfortable. Nevertheless, it was an assurance of power. He was the one in control. _Alright, if that's the game you want to play…_ All the while, the deadpan expression on his features stayed the same, you smiled warmly, wanting to keep tensions to a minimum.

As Vergil let go of your hand, you felt the warmth recede, already missing the contact and the first steps to good impressions. You nodded at the confirmation of his name. The man before you turned towards the stairs, and proudly strode up the steps with a feline grace, before turning his head a few degrees.

"Follow me." He ushered you in his direction with a stern expression. You hesitantly complied, keeping your wits about you. This guy was certainly not one for words, nor pleasantries.

Following him with hurried, yet cautious steps, you entered through a mahogany door, the sign above the entrance reading, 'study'. An overbearingly large library of books greeted you, your excitement becoming extremely evident at the sheer sight. There were numerous novels and journals, both factual and fictional, all neatly presented into their cherry hue shelves. A gasp escaped your lungs. In fact, you could swear a ghost of a smirk brushed against Vergil's lips, pride swelling in his chest at your reaction. Even if the smirk was gone, the glint in his storm cloud eyes remained.

The man beside you continued towards the table in the centre of the brightly lit room, brushing any dust that settled overnight off of the surface. He pulled the chair from under the mahogany table, ushering you to sit. This subtle change in his demeanour was bizarre to say the least. His gentlemanly actions made you reconsider your initial analysis of the man, hoping that your judgement and first impression will not overshadow his further future potential changes.

As you sat in the presented chair, Vergil followed suit, seating himself opposite you. A blanket of awkward silence ensued, the both of you unsure of where to start the discussion.

You decided to take the plunge.

"This is a lovely collection of books." Scanning over the hundreds of papers in the study, you noticed multiple familiar titles that you've read before. Many of them were classics, both novels and poetry books. The books that sat on the table adorned the names of Mary Shelley, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Blake, all placed lovingly away from the rest of the clutter. Your expression was clearly glinting at the gothic anthologies.

Before you could continue praising the library, Vergil's eyes scanned you over, clearing his throat.

"If we may proceed to the task at hand…" His sigh, as well as stern gaze, caused your breath to hitch, remembering that he wasn't there for pleasantries. The ebony file you clutched at your chest was the most private, and sacred collection of your innermost nightmares. Sharing it with anyone was almost unthinkable. However, the sheer terror that each night caused, and the bags beneath your eyes, were all evidence of this being the _unthinkable_. You reluctantly placed the file on the mahogany surface, pushing it towards Vergil with one, swift push. The only sound you could hear was your laborious pulse, and the slide of plastic on lacquered wood.

You waited for an excruciatingly long time, watching Vergil's unchanging features scan through your sketches and notes.

"Your visions; This is the demon that haunts them?" He turned to the page which held the visage of a demonic figure, wasp-like in its appearance. Its numerous rows of teeth were protruding outwards, daring its victims to come closer. The blue devil's gloved hand caressed at the cartridge paper. He seemed to be admiring the details of your hastily sketched artworks, brushing his fingers amongst the pencil marks so very tenderly, as if trying not to smudge the graphite. Although his expression was blank, the iconic crinkle between his brows deepened.

"Yes. The recurring nightmare keeps getting worse as time goes on. The creature started talking to me a few months ago, in fact. It tells me to return, to bring _her_ back. I wish I knew what any of it meant." Your explanation brought Vergil's gaze back up to you, his steely expression softening at your grief.

"This began _after_ the Qliphoth incident?" Vergil's recollection of your first encounter surprised you, noting that the man _did_ pay attention to every single last detail. He's just as observant as he was meticulous. You simply nodded, grasping at the sides of your face to prop yourself on the table in a comforting motion. That sleepless night was finally taking its toll.

"Hmm… A rift between worlds may have been the catalyst to your predicaments." He continued to flick through your file pages, reading the multitudes of notes you've taken from books and internet posts about demons and lucid dreaming. Every so often, Vergil murmured a comment or two under his breath, analysing and scanning through his own experiences, sometimes cross referencing between you, the file, and himself.

"This is… impressive." You began to doze off, your lashes obscuring your vision, before a voice kicked you back to reality. Vergil was observing a double page spread, a watercolour artwork of the landscape that your night terrors took place in. Splashes of scarlet, black, and molten silver seemed to dance across the paper, harmonious in their mingling. Viewing the environment, dozens of ice-like structures towered to the void above. The abyssal blackness seemed to absorb any and all remnants of the stalagmite buildings, which all emitted a malevolent glow of deep, cardinal red. There were chains enrobing each haphazardly created structure. Admittedly, you weren’t sure if these chains were meant to keep things in or out. You shuddered at the thought.

"I- thank you." An undeniably pleased grin spread across your lips, admiring the view of Vergil’s fingers trailing across your inking and watercolour splashes. It shocked you, seeing his expression completely melt at the art piece. The tenderness in his eyes was peaceful, albeit melancholic.

You recalled having a particularly abhorrent night, deciding to calm your pulse with a painting session. For nearly eight hours of sketching and inking, you sprinkled salt onto the drenched paper, watching the crystals absorb the colours in hopes that the texture they created would resemble what you saw that night. To your surprise, the composition was your pride and joy. Nothing you created afterwards could ever be as accurate as the hellscape you experienced. It was a shame you couldn’t bring yourself to sharing it with anyone.

Until now.

Your grin deepened

Vergil’s fingers still trailing across the textured paper, his brows furrowed, noting the figure that stood amongst these structures. It was the demon again, this time holding its outstretched arms towards you, pleading you to come closer. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, more so a gentle beckoning.

“The Sanguisugae…” He abruptly slammed the files shut, your breath hitching at the sudden change in the atmosphere with Vergil’s steely gaze returning to your shaken face. Somewhere in the distance, the low rumble of rolling thunder caused a lump to form in your trachea. It was difficult to breathe.

“You truly have no inherent idea of what _power_ you possess?” The blue devil’s stare never faltered, pinning you down with his blue smoke eyes. You attempted to gulp away the lump.

“Your abilities are unnatural. Inhuman. And yet I sense nothing superior about you. What gives?” A violent clap of thunder followed Vergil’s biting words, threatening to suffocate you at the sudden change of energy. You averted your eyes, trying to keep the tears from welling up.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.” You snapped at the devil before you, noting that his stare softened momentarily. A sigh left his parted lips.

Before looking up at your offended expression, Vergil moved up from his chair to follow a trail of books along the cherry shelves. Gentle fingers trailed at their paper spines, outlining each and every letter with loving motions. His journey stopped at a particularly large hardback, adorned in maroon hues, and golden vines coiling around the spine. Careful in his actions, Vergil pulled the book from the shelf, and placed it before you.

“My apologies. It was not my intention to offend,” he continued to stare, his nasal yet husky tone much softer than before, “read it. It’ll help you understand your abilities, and where they come from.”

Placing tentative fingertips upon the cover of the golden embellished book, you noted that Vergil’s softened expression deepened into somewhat of a thoughtful one. He observed your movements, and your slow yet hesitant approach to the hardback. The book was titled ‘Maleficium’, a Latin term for ‘witchcraft with the intention to harm’. You simply nodded, understanding that your powers were primarily for self preservation.

Waiting a few passing moments, you tested the waters, watching Vergil’s reactions to your interaction with the book. He was ever observant. Eventually you opened it, your eyes widening at the multitudes of demonic faces and figures, as well as environments, you recognised. Flicking through quickly, passing through chapter titles, and diagrams, trails of salty sorrow trailed down your cheeks. The sudden realisation that you were not hallucinating all of your predicaments was too much to bear. You doubled over, dropping the heavy book with a gargantuan thud, your face landing into your palms.

“I’m- my visions- they’re…” you were incapable of finishing a single sentence between your sobs. It was a tumultuous mix of emotions coiling in your stomach. Relief, grief, and morbid realisation, that the demon was real. All of these sleepless nights, your endless experiences of agonising travesties throughout the underworld, the mysteries that surrounded each of your encounters; you had begun to understand each and every one of them.

Whilst the tears trailed, Vergil left the vicinity, only to come back with a wad of tissues. He sat himself back in his chair, watching your every sob with a somewhat mellow expression. Offering you the tissues, you hesitantly grasped the soft paper, letting him brush your fingers for a mere millisecond. Although it was a subtle touch, you noted that the tender contact was different to the handshake. Less forced, less controlled. He was _feeling_ your sorrow _._ It seemed almost as if he understood your anger, as well as the sense of alleviation you experienced at the revelation.

You attempted to compose yourself, noting that the stoic character before you seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the display. With the remnants of tears trailing down, you cleaned your reddened eyes, nodding apologetically at the man.

“I’m sorry. I’m just glad I have a name for my demon. That I’m not some babbling fool with an overactive imagination and a very useful ability.” A ghost of a smirk trailed across Vergil’s lips, the corner lifting slightly at your comment. Just as you thought you broke his guise, he returned to his stern glare. This time however, the glare was one of recollection.

“The Sanguisugae were a powerful humanoid race of demons. Only they could wield what you so expertly control. I believe the area inside your visions is their natural dwelling, deep inside the underworld. With our help, we can lead you there.” There was a short pause, your own mind processing the information you were just supplied with. You watched the blue devil, his stern glare ever present. Vergil's composure was not to be rivaled with. The calmness and cold tone that he radiated was in turn seeping into you, your own irritated and teary visage now instead possessing a pleasant, peachy blush.

“The Sanguisugae _were_? Does that mean they’re-“

“No. Not extinct. Laying dormant.” Vergil answered, your silence giving way to another pause. You were unsure how to proceed, every single answer leading to a dozen more questions.

“Dormant? What for?” You kept prodding. Admittedly, you enjoyed the interaction, no matter how brief it was. Something about the way his expressions morph made you want to push his buttons, only to experience more of the facial changes.

“Tsk. Are you familiar with Mundus?” With a scoff, Vergil ran his calloused fingers through his locks, before folding his arms in annoyance.

“Mundus? Is that some sort of mythological creature, or…” Question after question, Vergil’s crinkle deepened, his eyes growing weary at the overbearing social interaction. With a scowl, he picked up a titanic pile of books and journals, all spanning across the subjects of demonology, theology, biology, occultism, and theism. Slamming the pile on the table, the room rattled under the force. You couldn’t help but grin mischievously.

“Read. I’ll leave you here to study. If I so much as see a _scratch_ or a _blemish_ on any of these covers, you won’t live to see tomorrow. Are we clear?” Although Vergil’s tone was venomous, there was no bite to the words. You felt comfortable around him. If Dante seemed to trust him with the both of you alone, then so shall you. No one knows you better than family.

Especially a brother. _Especially a twin._

You smiled broadly at the pile of study work you were given by the blue devil.

“Crystal.”


End file.
